


Far From Home

by tarysande



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lucifer (TV) Season/Series 04, lucifer spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 06:39:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18773278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarysande/pseuds/tarysande
Summary: She’s so used to seeing him wherever she goes—he’s every lean, dark-haired man in a tailored suit, at least for the first few seconds—that it takes her at least a full breath to register that the man standing at the end of the grocery aisle isn’t a figment of her imagination.He’s not wearing a suit. His hair is a mass of untamed dark curls. His gaze is unblinking, though, and he’s looking right at her.





	Far From Home

**Author's Note:**

> I think if I were to write something long and plotty set after season four--this interstitial moment would be at the heart of it. I loved S4 for so many reasons, and I really hope we get to see what the writers have planned for S5.

She’s so used to seeing him wherever she goes—he’s every lean, dark-haired man in a tailored suit, at least for the first few seconds—that it takes her at least a full breath to register that the man standing at the end of the grocery aisle isn’t a figment of her imagination.

He’s not wearing a suit. His hair is a mass of untamed dark curls. His gaze is unblinking, though, and he’s looking right at her.

“Lucifer?” she whispers, the word so trapped in her suddenly dry throat hardly any voice emerges at all. Then, louder, “Lucifer?”

“Mommy,” says Trixie, “I don’t think that’s–”

But Chloe is already gone, covering the distance faster than she’s ever run after a perp. Her heart leaps; her eyes are filled with tears that make the whole world blurry. It’s been hell without him. It’s been  _hell_  and now she’s in the grocery store and she’s carrying a box of cereal she just liberated from Trixie’s sugar-addicted hands and he’s standing at the end of the aisle, right beside the flour, just  _looking_ at her. It’s been months, it’s been  _months_  and no matter how many times her brain has whispered,  _there, there he is_ , it’s never ever been like this. His face hasn’t changed, even though she keeps blinking. He’s not looking at her like she’s deranged. 

She drops the cereal. He doesn’t disappear. She pinches herself; the pain does not wake her.

Lucifer doesn’t move. His gaze remains unblinking. “ _Lucifer_ ,” she cries, reaching for him. “You’re back.” Her voice breaks. Like Dorothy waking up in Oz, suddenly everything’s all color again, all life. “How are you back? The demons—the—you said—”

Lucifer steps backward. Smoothly. Not a recoil. Just a step. Impossibly graceful. Impossibly wrong. Her hand falls short. “Be not afraid, Chloe Decker,” he says. No British accent. An accent she can’t place at all. She freezes, and it’s worse, it’s so much worse than  _goodbye_. It’s Lucifer’s face. It’s  _Lucifer’s face_. She’s already told Lucifer she’s not afraid. She’s not. “I am—”

“You’re not Lucifer,” says Trixie, defiant and angry and sad, her little warm hand grabbing the one Chloe has let fall like a dead thing back at her side. Chloe stops drifting. Her detective’s eye sees the differences now, subtle, almost imperceptible. Lucifer’s face is one marked by smiling; this one, not so much.

“I am Michael,” he says, as Chloe dies a little inside. “And I am far from home.”


End file.
